Sherlock shots
by 8annie81
Summary: Short little stories. Most not Even reaching five hundred words. Very mild Johnlock.
1. Fun mind

Midday had rolled around, oddly, uneventfully. John was reveling in the peacefulness. Sherlock didn't have a case, but he was also not yet displaying symptoms of boredom. There was a rare calmness in the flat.

John was wary. If he could survive his session with Ella today, and nothing major happened with Sherlock he might actually make his date with Jeanette.

She had, surprisingly, given him a second chance. It had taken lots of pleading. Not that John would admit it.

He anxiously looked between Sherlock and his watch.

'Ten minutes.' He thought. 'Ten minutes till my appointment with Ella. If we can go ten minutes-!'

Sherlock noticed and looked at him oddly. "I'm not going to mess up your date tonight."

John nodded. Not quite sure of how to respond.

Ms. Hudson walked through and shooed him. "Now off with you. You'll be late!"

John looked at his watch again. It was if fact time for him to leave.

Odd. Hadn't it been a good ten minutes? And how long had Ms. Hudson been in their flat?

He hailed a cab and one stopped right away. Was this really even London?

His visit with Ella was a breeze. She didn't insinuate or pry. It was even..pleasant.

What in hell was going on?

He rubbed his shoulder nervously as he entered the resturant that yet another miracle can had brought him to.

Then he spotted Jeanette. And oh! Was she gorgeous?!

She sat in their reserved booth with a flirtatious smile. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "John I've been thinking." She gave an enticing little humm. "We should skip dinner...have a little fun."

John smiled. "Oh! Fun I see. We could do...that."

Suddenly Sherlock appeared from nowhere. "Do what?"

John shrieked. "Sherlock!"

Jeanette harrumphed and walked away. Sherlock slid into her seat. "She was boring me anyway. So what are we doing for fun?"

John stuttered. "Sher-sherlock! My date! Again!"

He heard Jeanette harrumph again louder. He opened his eyes and realized he'd fallen asleep on the couch. Jeanette was standing angrily over him.

She wasn't quite the beauty he'd seen in his dreams. To be fair it seemed like she'd had a good long cry.

He looked at his watch. He'd missed dinner entirely. Fuck.

"You've blown me off for the last time John Watson!" She slapped him and exited in a huff.

He leaned back and sighed. "Even in my dreams."

His handy buzzed. He checked it briefly and discovered a plethora of messages from Ella and Jeanette. And one from Sherlock that read, 'Jeanette's here. Seems upset.'

John was seeing red. "Even in my dreams!" He growled. "You even ruin my dates in my dreams!"

Sherlock walked in. "You said my name in your sleep. I think it annoyed Jeanette."

"Why didn't you wake me!?" John demanded.

"You needed sleep. By the way, what kind of fun did you have in mind?"


	2. Oh mama

John was sitting on the couch reading a news paper when Sherlock walked in.

"I brought milk." He said quickly. He placed it on the coffee table in front of John and then hurried to his room.

Everything was off about this. "What are you doing?" John asked folding up his newspaper.

"I need quiet, absolute quiet." Sherlock mumbles.

John raises an eyebrow and gets up. "Come 'ere."

Sherlock turns his head to look at John. His eyes are oddly wide and he looks anxious. "No. I need quiet. Absolute-."

Suddenly John is angry and he makes his way straight for Sherlock. "What did you take."

Sherlock starts to mutter something. His head jerks up and then back down to look at John. He gives a small chuckle. "I brought the milk."

"You're high." John growls angrily. "You're bloody high!"

"Shhhhhh." Sherlock hushed messily. "Mycroft could have bugged the place."

"Like I give a shit!" John yelled angrily.

The taller man looked down at an angle seemingly confused.

"Why?!" John demanded.

Sherlock yawned. "I'm going to fall asleep." He started walking towards his bedroom.

The shorter man growled. "Sherlock."

Sherlock kept walking.

John wasn't inebriated so he walked faster. He stood in Sherlocks way. "Listen here-!"

Sherlock fell forward.

John jumped in surprise as Sherlock literally passed out on him. "You-." He stopped suddenly saddened. It's"Christmas eve you prick."

"I...needed sleep." Sherlock mumbled.

"Next time...say something. There are better fucking ways."

Sherlocks head rolled back. He was now fully asleep.

"I ought to kill you." John frowned and muttered, "But in the mean time I better keep an eye on you."

He sighed as he dragged Sherlock to his bed. "Christmas eve, and you're bloody high."

**Later~**

A startled scream, Mom and Dad yelling, a shattering dish.

A shattering dish, a startled scream, Mom and Dad yelling.

Wait. What order did it go in? Sherlock rubbed his temples. Okay the yelling was happening now. Rather loudly.

"Shut up! Both of you! I'm trying to think!" He yelled.

His parents glared and his mother put her hands on her hips.

Sherlock ignored them. He looked around the kitchen.

The kitchen sink: on. His mother was washing carrots.

Dad: Going off. "Needs to wash his mouth out with soap." As per his mother _is_ saying.

The plate: Broken. Someone in this kitchen is clumsy.

Mycroft: Glaring pointedly at Sherlock. And pointing at Sherlock as well.

"He did it!" Mycroft accused.

"Don't be ridiculous. It was-."

His mother sighed aggravatedly. "I don't care! I just don't care! There's too many people in this kitchen! So would you both, please, get!"

Sherlock looked appalled.

His mother continued, "Go on! Go set the table or some such thing!"

The two brothers slumped and trudged out of the kitchen. Their mother watched them go while slapping her palm with a spatula. She pointed the spatula at her husband.

"You too! Out!"

John chuckled at the antics. He'd have to invite Sherlocks mother to Christmas every year. She made the Christmas dinners quite enjoyable.

Suddenly the spatula was aimed at him. "Out!"

Or not.

Sherlock pouted on the couch in his sheet.

"Couldn't be bothered to dress for our own mother." Mycroft ticked. "That's sure to make her proud."

John rolled his eyes. "Care to tell us, whodunit?" He said attempting to perk Sherlock up.

"Our beloved mother." Sherlock said sarcastically.

**The point of view was weird on this one. Any suggestions on how to fix it? Critique is loved~**


	3. Chip on shoulder

**I don't know why. I just really enjoy poking fun at poor John. Ella too.**

It was quiet again in Ella's office. She was waiting for John to open up, which he never did. Despite herself she broke her patience.

"John?"

He said nothing. He only grunted.

"Where did you get that bruise on your face?" She leaned forward to touch his chin.

He stayed perfectly still and stared forward. "Got hit."

She frowned and wrote something down. "By who?"

Johns eyes widened. "What makes you think it was a person? I walked into a door."

"With your chin? Hard enough to leave a bruise?" She looked at him softly, clearly hoping for a confession. He said nothing, so she continued, "And your hand..whats happened to it."

He looked to the left, further avoiding her. He curled and uncurled his cut hand. "I...punched the door."

Ella shook her head in disbelief. "Oh you got into a fight didn't you? John you need to tell me what's happened."

" 'Scuse me." He said. "I need to-."

She stood up, setting her clipboard written side down. She didn't want him reading it.

"No."

He made a motion to stand and she put her hand on his shoulder. He flinched. "Not that one."

"Hmm?"

He pulled away from her. "Not that shoulder."

Realization struck her. She lifted her hand. "I'm sorry, but John, please. Tell me what happened."

He bit his lip.

She took this as a good sign. "Remember every word you say is confidential. And I'm only here to help you."

"It was part of an alibi. Sherlock wanted to look like he'd been mugged, only the twa- man didn't say that. He just told me to punch him in the face." Ella sat back down.

She wrote this down and hummed, "Mhh." for him to continue.

He clammed up imeadiatly.

"Did you have an alibi too? He punched you?" She didn't seem to believe what he was telling her, but he was talking for once, so she was keene to hear more.

"Well no. I was just supposed to be an onlooker/doctor who saw him get mugged."

She tried not to show her disbelief. "Then what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Your bruise and your hand. How did they happen?"

He looked over breifly and saw that she had written,

'_Possible senorios'_

_-Fight with flat mate._

_-Self harm._

_-Mayb_-

He couldn't read the last bullet. She'd noticed him peering over and had flipped her clipboard.

"John." She chided. "Just tell me how YOU got hurt."

"Sherlock...punched me in the face so that I would punch him in the face."

Ella gasped. "Did he trigger you?!"

"No." John said reclusively. "I was fine. Just didn't expect it."

"You don't seem fine. Were the two of you angry?"

"I am fine." He said forcibly.

"Did you have a..a domestic?" She asked as if she already knew.

John rolled his eyes at the familiar assertion. "No." He sighed crossing his arms. "It was an alibi."

"Then why are you upset?"

Johns watch beeped and he stood. He smiled a bit exasperatedly and said, "Looks like the sessions over."

She stood too for a moment she looked hurt. "You've timed your watch for the end of my sessions?"

He didn't respond and they stood there for a while.

"John..."

He seemed to snap out of the silence. "Yes, well I'll be off. See you next week."

**Later~**

John entered 221b and set his keys and coat down on a table. His keys clattered a bit drawing Sherlock in from another room.

"You're angry at Ella. She thinks we've had a 'domestic'." He said thoughtlessly.

John immediately went on the defensive. "Where in hell do you get that idea?"

"You're limping and rubbing your shoulder. Something you do after upsetting visits with her. She's a therapist, a bad one at that, but a therapist. She's trained to look for injuries. Your hand and face are blatant-."

"Okay. Stop, stop. I've heard enough." John sighed. "But could you give it a rest just on-."

"That and she called."

John eyed him weirdly. "You actually picked up?"

"No Ms. Hudson did."

With that the aforementioned woman walked shyly into the room. "Really John...you two got in a fist fight. I thought your relationship was so quaint."

John face palmed. "I'm not gay." (Stop lying John! You're hurting your partners feelings.)

Ms. Hudson raised her hands in surrender. "Alright! My mistake its just-."

"And it's something else. Something Ella didn't catch." Sherlock said now thinking.

"What on earth-." John began.

"You're angry at me, but why?"

Ms. Hudson looked back and forth between John and Sherlock seeming to have decided she no longer wanted to be in the middle. "Well," she said clapping her hands, "I best be getting along."

Sherlock cocked his head at John. John glared back saying nothing until the door shut behind Ms. Hudson.

"I am not." He defended.

"That's a lie. You're holding your right shoulder slightly higher. You're angry."

"You punched me in the face!"

"That's not it. Don't play dumb. Why are you angry? Jeanette? You're certainly over her." He thought for a moment. "The dead cat in the tub?"

"There's a-!"

"If not that then what!" Sherlock rages. "What do people get mad about besides stupidity, love, and messes?!"

John shakes his head in disbelief. "..." He opens his mouth and makes a cracking sound, but shuts it again.

"Wait. It is love."

Eyes widening John looks away. "What?" He asks bewildered and nervously scratchers his shoulder. "You're insane."

Sherlock seems to have pieced something quite spectacular together in his head. "It's not Jeanette, the blond one, no it's none of them."

John takes a step back. "What are you getting at?"

"It goes back much further than that." Sherlock stops staring into space and looks straight at John. "You've been dating these women as a show. Either to yourself or some third party. Who? Who are you trying to impress?!"

John chuckles darkly. "Yeah. You're absolutely insane."

"I'm not. This is all so transparent I can't believe I haven't seen it before!"

John walks towards him, still sarcastic. "You're so daft."

Sherlock crosses his arms and looks down at John. "I'm going to find out who it is. I'm making a case out of this."

John laughs. "Here's a hint." He leans forward and kisses Sherlocks cheek.

As John walks away Sherlock stares. "What hint?"

**Go ahead. Tell me how Ooc Sherlock was in the ending. I've been positively dying of embarrassment over it since I posted it. But I can't seem to get around to changing it because my muse for this one is dead, so I'm keeping it because I like the deductions and the interaction with Ella, but the ending has me groaning. I seriously couldn't think of anything better to write?! So if you have any recommendations for a better ending I'll credit you. Plus I'll more than likely stalk-er veiw your profile and stories afterwards. Pweese?**


	4. Teenlock Parody

_Images flashed._

_Johns angry father yelling at his mother. He then strikes her and she falls. Young John watches as she is stuck again and again._

_His father yells at Harriet. A similar scene plays through._

_Then he closes in on John._

_Cps. After a few tense months, summarized very quickly by the flashing images. People keep asking questions. How clumsy John and his mother must be to sustain all those injuries._

_Then the police barged in. Taking Harriet and his father. Why Harriet!? He wanted to yell, but he didn't. He knew the answer._

_"Harry" was at the bottle again._

_The car crash. The one that took his mother. He'd been in the passengers seat. That scene dragged out the longest_.

John sat up. Breathing heavily. He clutched his plain khaki sheets. Standard issue at his school, Denton Heights.

His aunt had dumped him there it seemed, when she discovered the fights he was getting in at school. It didn't seen to make a difference.

He lasted a year. Then he was jumped on the schools own grounds. He fought back as well as he could, but was out numbered.

He sustained a long, deep cut from his shoulder to his chest. He was also stabbed in the leg, but he hadn't even realized that until he'd woken up in the hospital.

There it was explained that he'd passed out from blood loss. His aunt sobbed and apologized, but he tuned her out. He'd tuned everyone out for a long time. He and Harry grew distant.

All of this information sat like a rock in his stomach. He sat in an equally stone like position at the very edge of his therapist, Ella's leather chair.

"How's your Notebook going?"

"Good." He clipped. "It's uh..really good."

She sighed sadly. "You haven't written anything, have you?"

John nodded resting his chin on his fist. He tilted his head slightly on his fist. His eyes widened. "Trust issues?" He asked.

"And you read my writing upside down. You see what I mean?" She blinked thoughtfully.

Johns mouth twitched and he played with the arm of the couch.

"John you're an intelligent young man. Give the shift time. You'll adjust to the new way of life soon enough. Keeping a journal about everything that happens to you will honestly help."

Johns face is stoic as he says, "Nothing happens to me."


	5. More Teenlock

John walked briskly through his new schools recreational area. He passed by a boy on a bench who imeadiatly looked up and asked, "John? John Watson is that you?"

John sucked air through his teeth before turning around and eyeing the boy. It was clear he did not recognize him. "Oh yeah. Hey." He made a move to keep walking.

It's me Mike. Mike Stamford. I know I've gotten fat." He chuckled and pressed on his chest expressing his dislike for the extra weight.

"No, no." John lied. It clicked who the person was. They ended up sitting on the bench talking.

"So what's with the rumors of your dad bein' taken way?"

"He was."

"Oh."

They were both scilent for a while. Johns mouth twitched and he balled and unballed his hand tapping the edge of the bench. "So.." He breathed out. "What year are you again?"

"Junior, but I'm not going to be staying in this school."

"What?" John asked. It didn't matter anyway. It wasn't like John would ever feel comfortable talking to him.

"You're not yourself. It's almost like you're not the John I met."

"I'm not the John you met." He said a bit coldly.

"Ah...right. Where are you staying?"

"Cross town. With an aunt."

"How's Harry?"

"Good." John clipped the coldness returning.

Mike looked sadly at John. He was trying to be sympathetic, but it came across as pity. "She...still on the drink?"

John clapped his hands. "I better get going."

"Oh well. Best luck on your first day!"

John turned back for a moment. "It's not my first day."

Mike beamed. "Oh good then! Who else have you met?"

"You.." John sighed. "Nobody else'd want me for a freind."

Mike chuckled and John looked at him oddly, asking, "What?"

"You're not the first person to say that to me today."


	6. No peace for John

John wakes up, suddenly, to the sound of someone else's breathing. After looking at the ceiling for a moment just registering that he was in fact hearing something, he looked down to his left and smiled at the source of the breathing. His girlfriend, Michelle was still sound asleep. He kissed her forehead gently, waking her.

She opens her eyes hazily. "Morning." She yawns.

Chuckling he kissed her again. "It's afternoon."

Michelle sits up. "Oh shite!" She hurriedly begins dressing. "Where's my shirt?" She asks romping around the room.

"It's Saturday." John reminds her as he himself sits up and stretches.

She stops fumbling around and glares playfully. She throws an article of clothing at him. "You prick." She taunts crawling back into bed.

They begin kissing when a shattering sound comes from another part of the house.

"John..? Is that your roomate?"

"Hold on. No Sherlock's got a doctors visit today, way off in Brussels." John stands up and edges his way towards the door.

"Hide." He says shortly. He leaves Michelle in his room and sneaks past the kitchen door. As quietly as he can manage he takes his gun from a drawer in the living room and quietly stalks towards the kitchen.

In one swift motion he cocks his gun and slams the door open aiming his gun at the first thing that moves.

**Now I have three choices for how to continue this. It could be Sherlock, back early, Ms. Hudson making tea, or a cat with a note tied to its neck. I'll put up a pole about it. ^^ please vote...please.**


	7. Sticky

John entered 221B humming happily to himself. "Hey Sherlock-." He began before being interrupted.

"Top drawer to the left." Sherlock interrupted not looking up from Johns laptop.

John pulled a face. "How'd you know I needed this?" He asked a bit awkwardly.

"Your stride was elongated. Evident that you were looking for something, the humming a clear sign of happiness. The tune a love song, call me maybe or some such thing."

His flat-mate scoffed. Even Sherlock had heard that god awful song.

Sherlock continued. Either without noticing or caring about his flat-mates scoffing. "So you've spoken to a girl. You went into the kitchen, but did not wash your hands, as you always do, presumably, because you're a doctor. Together it seems you have something written on your wrist, humming happily, a phone number. You don't wash your hands because you don't want to wash it off. You're searching for a sticky note."

John chuckled. "That's about the size of it."

"About?" Sherlock asked raising an eyebrow.

A bit defensively John added. "You've got it right. That's what's happening."

"Whats her name?" Sherlock mused.

"What!?" John demanded. Since when did Sherlock care to know who he was dating?

"Or his-." Even worse.

"Her, thank you. I'm not gay. Linda. Why are you asking?"

"You're my flat-mate, I should know your relationships."

John scoffed again. "Well that's not nessisarily true I do appreciate you trying to learn my girlfriends name. But it's not like you've ever cared before. Why now?"

"It would seem you believe me to be good at ruining your relationships. As part of an experiment-."

"No." John said suddenly and thoroughly unamused. "Don't include my girlfriends in any of your experiments." He held Sherlocks eye, his expression completely serious.

"I'm sure this Laura-."

"Linda."

"Won't mind, or otherwise you could just not inform her."

John looked unflappable. "Absolutely not."

"You don't know what the experiment is-."

"Still not happening." John said walking away.

"I'll tell you where you can find a pen." Sherlock wagered.

John looked around their war-zone like home. A pen in this mess? John practically would need a detective. He tried to regain his air of indifference to Sherlocks twisted logic. "No thanks I'll manage."

He looked down at his hand. Linda's number was badly faded, but no! Involving his new girlfriend in one of Sherlocks experiments was asking for it!

"I understand." Sherlock said elusively.

Johns eyes bounced around the flat. A bloody pen.

He could feel it. His relationship would end. For a bloody PEN!

He could barley read her number anymore. If he didn't write it down soon he'd lose it. WHY did he have such a messy flat-mate!? John sighed exasperatedly and asked, "What experiment?"

Sherlock steepled his fingers and smiled smugly. "Never mind. Here's a pen."

John had moments ago been completely on edge. Near violence even, with his, messy, sociopath, genius of a flat-mate. Now he took a deep breath and reached for the pen.

"Thank you." He said regaining his composure.

He attempted to jot down the number on the note, but the pen was empty. He scribbled furiously trying to get it to work. And then it hit him.

"Sherlock!" He yelled into their now empty flat. "I'm going to kill you."

The experiment had nothing to do with Johns girlfriend. It was all about John and his temper.

Based solely on the throbbing vein in Johns forehead it seemed Sherlock had gotten himself into what could be called, a sticky situation.

**Okay yes. Cheesy as hell, but fun too. I was thinking of having like John put his hands around Sherlocks neck and the number run completely off. But that seemed wayyyy too violent. Critique me, pleeeease!**


	8. Nightmare?

With a sharp intake of breath John sat up. He looked around the room in wild fear before leaning back on his elbow. Shakily he moved his hand up to his face.

He'd been yelling. Defiantly _that_ dream again.

"John." He felt a hand on his shoulder.

How long had it been there?

"John." The voice called again.

He looked at the source of the hand and voice and quickly turned away.

Him.

"It's alright...you're alright." Sherlock said numbly.

John shrugged him off and tried to steady his breathing and pulse. "Of course...I'm alright." But his voice cracked. His throat was decidedly sore.

They sat in silence for a moment. John continued to look at Sherlock and then the room. Back to Sherlock. The ceiling, floor, walls.

Then while he was looking at Sherlock, the man turned to look at him. John looked away clenching his jaw.

"What was the dream?" Sherlock asked.

"What?" John rasped.

"The dream, the nightmare. What was it?" Sherlock demanded half heartedly.

John mumbled, "Just uh...Afganastan." He lied.

His flat-mate raised a dark eyebrow. "I was never in Afganastan."

John stiffened. "Probably Afganastan. I don't even remember." His flat-mate said nothing so he stole a glance in his direction.

Sherlock sat watching him with his fingers steepled under his chin. "Shall I get Ms. Hudson," He threatened, "Or will you tell me the truth."

The other man rolled his eyes. "You've got to be kidding."

"No John I'm completely serious. I can't go bringing you to crime scenes if you're emotionally unstable."

"Oh is that what this is?" John huffed. "No need to worry about that. I've got a therapist and a girlfriend for that." He immediately flinched. He hadn't meant for that last bit to slip out.

Despite his constant hinting at shagging his girlfriends John wouldn't usually get there. Even at the circus when he'd frustratedly told Sherlock he was trying to get off with Sarah. Sarah had been unfazed. She saw through him like most girls did.

John might make it to the bedroom with a girl. Be kissing her, holding her, but every time without fail he would sigh. It would be the wrong kind of sigh for bedroom use. Most girls would then pounce on it. Pressuring him to tell them where the sigh was coming from.

They'd ask what was wrong and he'd tell them. It would often go on until early morning.

Sherlock seemed to suddenly read all of that in the tense silence. He cleared his throat and John looked up.

Johns eyes betrayed his fear. He was wondering what Sherlock was thinking. He couldn't convince himself that Sherlock was thinking about him in a good way.

"Sherlock?"

After a moment the consulting detective lowered his steepled fingers. "John?"

"I'm not gay."

Sherlock cocked his head to the side. His flat-mate stared straight ahead clenching his bed clothes.

"I'm not."

Where was this coming from? Neither of them knew.

For once Sherlock was completely stunned. His mind turned to Johns nightmare. Had John even sounded afraid?

Was it even a nightmare his friend had had?

"You're not gay..." Sherlock agreed. Unsure in every way. In ways he didn't know he could be. Sherlock reached out and touched Johns leg.

He waited for John to move or flinch, but he didn't.

Slowly he moved closer looking John in the eye. John stared back with an unreadable expression.

Sherlock liked to think he knew what John was thinking. Seeing the man so stoic left him confused, curious, and wary. Eventually his curiosity won out.

"Not gay, but...?"

John swallowed. "Confused."

Sherlock let out a dry laugh and smiled nervously. "Well lets find out then."

**Shot. ShotShotShotShot. Cannot believe I just. No. Shot. Don't hate me okay?**


	9. The Speckled one?

A few days after Christmas, John was still a bit midfed at Sherlock for running Jeanette off. As always he was analyzing the event. Pointlessly trying to discover a way to have saved the situation. There wasn't one. One phrase continued to bounce around inside his head. Relentlessly.

The Speckled one. Honsestly! Her name was Annie for christs sakes.

The Speckled one.

And he complained about the names John gave his cases!

The Speckled one.

"Sarah," He yelled suddenly. She was the _Blond one_. "Abigail!" _The one with the nose_. "ANNIE!" _The Speckled one_. "Jeanette!" _The boring school teacher._

Sherlock looked up from his reading. "Are you done?"

"Is it really too much to ask you to not-." He scrubbed his hand down his face and murmured, "The Speckled one. The one with the nose. Boring school teacher!"

"Yes." He said without any hint of remorse. "Because that would require me to care."

"The Speckled one!" He said emphasizing with his hands. "And you said it to her face!"

With a bored expression Sherlock said, "Yes and you punched me, remember?"

"And I might do it again! She left our flat in tears! Do you have any idea how you made her feel? She had a slight case of eczema and she was no doubt aware of it. She was humiliated. And Jeanette slapped me! How can you not understand!" John huffed. "You're so daft!"

Reflexively Sherlocks eyes swept over John."You skipped lunch. Instead you had snacks from the vending machine in the surgery. Harry called half an hour ago, drunk if your elevated stress levels are any indication. The sock on your right foot has a hole in the big toe. You are wriggling right now. Don't be stupid John. I'm not daft. I just don't care about your girl friends or their feelings."

John was too furious to answer, so stupidly, Sherlock continued.

"And it wasn't eczema. You're a doctor. You know eczema is common around the hands, face, arms and feet. Not so often found on the hind end." Sherlock said with a mild eyebrow raise.

His face growing steadily redder and his fists cleanched John stood. "Right. Yes, well-."

"Considering it was not eczema- as you are so reluctant to see you could have caught it yourself. So really you should thank me."

"Thank you!?" John demanded.

Looking back down at his work Sherlock was halfway through a curt, "You're welcome." when Johns fist connected with his nose.

**Yeah...some plot bunnies should probably be ignored. What? You think it's odd that I would give his girlfriend a familiar sounding name? Well I also gave her ass acne so hush up. I actually know nothing about eczema. A friend of mime has it, but I know I'm no expert. Have mercy on my soul or whatever. As always~ Critique is welcomed!**


	10. Free bunnies

**Teenlock plot bunnies.**

John has just left a military style boarding school for getting into major fights there and being injured.

He meets the teen version of the dude who introduced him to Sherlock in the first place.

This dude is actually going to be leaving the school soon. He's the only one there John knows. John complains that without this dude he'll have no one to talk to.

Mwahaha.

He should meet this dude in the schools recreational area. And the dude should be sitting on a bench like he was in the real deal.

But before any of that John should have nightmares about something...then skip ahead to his talking to Ella.

Molly should be their schools student important something. She'll have keys to places Sherlock wants to go.

She's often dissecting frogs.

Ms. Hudson...should be late twenties/ early thirtys. She can't be a teacher...cafeteria lady? Janitor isn't befitting. Counseleur? Fuuuuuuuck.

A benificiary of the school who pops in occasionly~

Also instead of murderous drugs the person used date rape drugs.

And the person wasn't a taxi driver. He was the official dude to call-the designated driver of many students at the school.

Ehee! Sherlock can still act drunk!

And the lady in pink will be the girl in pink. She'll only have lost a purse and won't be dead. She'll just be reluctant to say anything. Like the others. She'll still do something Sherlock thinks is clever.

Instead of a wedding ring she'll be wearing a chastity ring. It'll still be dirty on the outside and clean on the inside.

At some point John will awkwardly comment, "Well there is something all the victims had in common!"

Sherlock will ask what and John will blubber a bit. "..They're all fairly attractive- I mean not the mates, b-but the chicks."

"Speaking of-well um..have you got a girlfreind?

**If you like any of these plots or the whole deal just ask! I can't seem to write this teenlock stuff for shit. **


End file.
